As Sharp Saw It
by FancyFreeThinker101
Summary: A couple of quick one-shots from Gwen's perspective, read if you have read The Woes of The Eternally Bored. T for romantic happenings which Bernard did not appreciate. Bernard/OC.
1. Chapter 1

In the bookstore, I did it.

I leant in and, trapping him neatly against the American History shelf, kissed him, ignoring his rather breathless, snarky murmur.

Per usual, he gasped, just a little, and his hands fumbled uncertainly, not sure what to do, where to go…after a few moments, they found my waist, and he relaxed, the habitual stiffness leaving him as he started to kiss me back, whole body shuddering delightfully when I traced the curve of his lip with my tongue.

He groaned softly in the back of his throat, and I grinned—sort of. As well as I could, anyway.

It never failed to amuse me how much kissing was Bernard's weakness. Snark was powerless against the enjoyments of the flesh, it seemed.

And it was even funnier how he always sought to pretend he was never ruffled in the least afterward.

My fingers were in his hair, and my body pressed close to his…just to drive him a little wild, I let my fingertips lightly skitter up the nape of his neck.

He made another soft, incoherent noise, and his grip tightened, becoming, if not confident, at least not so fumbling.

When I at last pulled back, I just looked at him for a few moments, breathing a little hard and reflecting to myself that Bernard was absolutely adorable when he was flustered. His cheeks were flushed pink, and there was, on his face, something which was dangerously close to being a goofy little smile…

None too collected myself, I grinned at him and lightly touched his lower lip.

"You have lip gloss on your mouth," I said quietly, noting that, judging from the expression in his eyes, Bernard was somewhere far off.

Sure enough, he only murmured "Hm?" in a way that was so…un-sarcastic that I laughed.

"You have lip gloss on your mouth, Bernard. Not to say that it doesn't become you, but I thought you should know."

At this he collected himself, albeit rather slowly, and mumbled, in a voice which sought to be dry and cool but didn't quite succeed:

"Sharp, your attack was uncalled for."

Not fooled in the least, I retorted:

"You didn't seem to think so two minutes ago."

Because he knew I was right, Bernard scowled for a moment, and then blushed, and then scowled harder, and finally said, in the best attempt at "toneless" that he could muster:

"Women."

I imitated that trademark "To hell with all of you" sigh and intoned, in that same drab voice:

"Bernards."

For a split second, his mouth—which, by the way, was still quite a decided shade of candy pink from the lip gloss and…other things—twitched, and I knew he wanted to smile…but, per usual, he conquered the impulse, and, with a shrug, turned to examine some of the books whose existence he'd just remembered. Humoring him, I leafed through one about the Presidents, waiting for the unnaturally bright color to leave him.

I considered, for a moment, telling him how absurdly cute he was all flushed and out of his element—but decided against it.

He probably wouldn't appreciate it overmuch, and, given his horrible childhood, he would probably think I was being flippant.

Still, though…it might do him good….

"Bernard?"

"What?"

"Can I tell you something?"

He sighed.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"But I will," I told him, smirking faintly now. "I shall, so you'd best just listen."

"Fine. Go for it."

I leant way in, so that my mouth was very, very close to his ear; Bernard, predictably, looked distinctly uncomfortable, and made as if to back away; putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him there, I whispered, with a grin:

"You're really cute."

He said nothing, and immediately forced his mouth into a cool, disdainful little scowl, but I knew from the way he started as if electrified, and from the color creeping up his neck that he liked it.

And that was enough for me.


	2. Popping the Statement

_AN: Hello! Sorry, I couldn't resist one more. I justified my absurdity with the fact that this is actually centered on an important "missing moment" from Woes of The Eternally Bored about which readers might have wondered. Well, here you are; enjoy! Oh, and reviews are wonderful. _

We were sitting there on the floor of my living room, he reading a book about Megamind, cool as you please and trying to pretend his arm wasn't stealing gradually around my waist, when he asked me.

Or, rather, sighed, extracted his arm, and fumbled around in the pocket of his blazer while I, leaning against him with my head on his shoulder, looked up in alarm.

"Dammit," he mumbled, now checking the pockets of his pants. "I should have known."

"What's wrong?" I inquired, sitting straighter and watching with bewilderment as his cheeks turned pink.

He didn't reply, only searched his pockets once more, sighed, and turned to me, expression characteristically unreadable.

"Forget it. I must have left it."

He sighed.

"God, this is embarrassing."

"Well, get it out with, then," I advised, inwardly admiring how well embarrassment suited him—really, any expression at all was a lovely change.

"Fine," he said, and swallowing. "Well—I…"

It was the first time I'd seen him really stumble with his words; smiling at how desperately he was trying to remain cool and composed, I prompted, gently:

"You what?"

"I…I…" Then, abruptly, he controlled himself, and stated, in a dry, matter-of-fact tone:

"I want to marry you."

For about five seconds I thought it was a particularly sarcastic joke; gaping, I sat there, waiting for him to raise an eyebrow and tell me not to be stupid, he hadn't been serious.

But he didn't. Bernard just looked at me, a dry mirth twitching the corners of his mouth at my dumbfounded expression, the heat in his face the only outward sign of any discomposure.

"Well," he said after a moment of the sort of silence one associates with cricket chirps, "aren't you going to cry?"

"No," I said, still dazed. "But I'd—I'd like to know…why?"

"Because I could use the added income," he replied, completely dead-pan. When I, still numb with shock, made no reply, he sighed again, and passed a hand over his face.

"Sorry," he said. "You know why. I love you, Gwendolyn."

"Oh," I breathed, pinching myself black and blue on the arm. "A-alright."

Another long period of quiet; Bernard, who, for a bare second, looked miserably hurt, quickly calmed his face into that bored, snarky mask and said:

"If you don't want to, just say no."

_That_ cleared away the daze; whoever said I didn't want to?

"No," I said, quickly. "I-I do…I do very much."

"You do?" he said, and there was a hope in his voice that no snark could cover.

"Yes, of course," I told him, an enormous smile overtaking me. "God, Bernard…what the hell do you think I've been waiting for?"

He didn't reply to this; he simply sat there, and I could tell it was taking every ounce of willpower he had within him not to grin like an idiot.

"Well," he said, at last. "That's settled then."

Without reply, I leant in and lay my head on his neck, twining my arms around his abdomen. The initial stiffening—which became shorter every day—melted within a second or two, and I felt his arms slowly settling on my back, as his chin rested atop my head.

"The ring's at home," he told me, as if it mattered. "I forgot it."

"So you bought a ring, then?" I said lightly, pulling back to look him in the face.

"I believe that's what was implied. Why?"

"Because," I teased, grinning; I was so used to his sarcasm by now it scarcely even registered. "That means you've got to go through with it now."

"Damn," he said. "I didn't think of that."

But I saw him smile to himself as he picked up his book again, and knew that the idea rather pleased him.

"So," I said, casually, once silence prevailed once more. "When does Marianne get to call you Uncle Bernard?"

Immediately wary, he sat stiff, and raised an eyebrow, giving me the patented "go to hell" stare.

"Never."

"She'll do it anyway," I told him, twisting my head to kiss him on the jaw. "Get used to it, Bernard."

And, for once, instead of making a snarky reply, Bernard said, in a voice not quite as dry as it usually was:

"I guess I'd better. I have lots of time."

"Ages," I agreed, and settled back against him. "I love you, Bernard."

"I know you do, Sharp."

And little more was said for the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
